


rise and ruin

by voksen



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, Reaction, canon hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wilds of First Home, Zalazane saw the death of the Darkspear Tribe.</p><p>aka Zalazane was dead: to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rise and ruin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UrbanAmazon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrbanAmazon/gifts).



Vol'jin is not there when Go'el the shaman takes Aggra's hands, as he vows to stand by her side forever - as once Vol'jin swore to _him_ , in memory of his father, that the Darkspear would stand with the orcish Horde - but he _is_ watching. Listening, as he has been since the spirits first breathed danger to him, crouched over his fire and watching the play of shadows, hearing things Go'el never meant him to hear, things long kept hidden: the doubt in him as he speaks of Garrosh, the rage and the strength of his desire for war with the humans. Misdirection and politics. There are some things that come before friendship when you have to try to ride an unbroken raptor... or try to rule the Horde.

 

"Ya weak, Vol'jin," a voice says, low, sickly familiar.

The feel of power thick in the air is not entirely his own; it's like the loa's presence and yet not, and for one brief second Vol'jin knows beyond certainty that if he turns from his fire to look behind him, he will see his old friend, his old enemy, _Zalazane,_ who effortlessly escaped half a thousand whelps' attempts to kill him, sending them each home with a well-jinxed old shrunken head or the rotting scalp of a zombie. But Bwonsamdi's justice is stronger than that; the loa couldn't have been fooled.

Vol'jin wants to believe _he_ couldn't have been fooled, but it wouldn't have been the first time Zalazane deceived him.

Zalazane laughs quietly, impossibly, into his ear as Vol'jin stares fixedly at the figures moving before him, watching as his second-oldest friend kisses his new lifemate and stares into her eyes as if the world, as if the Horde, no longer matters. There's a shiver trapped in the base of his spine.

"Ya be _weak,_ " Zalazane repeats, so close that Vol'jin ought to be able to feel breath on his neck, heat from the other's body, but there's nothing, no sense of a physical presence behind him. "Ya put ya trust in fools and ya led da people into ruin. I seen dis comin' years ago. Look at yaself, mournin' da loss of da orc who sold ya, bought and paid for. I been listenin' same as ya have. Dat orc, he be angry for his tauren friend. He call _Cairne_ his brotha, but he got no words to say for Vol'jin. No words for da Darkspear, driven out of da city dey helped build witout a chief dat could stand for dem."

It's a slap as harsh as Garrosh's old mockery, sending the same cold anger creeping into his bones. With a flick of his fingers, the power goes out of the fire, the images curling up and withering into blank white smoke. The heavy, almost-oppressive spiritual magic remains, like a cloak cast around him meant to comfort - or to smother. "Thrall has other things to be thinkin' about," he says softly, "and we have da Isles now. I made sure of dat."

"And ya have da slums." If Zalazane is holding a grudge over the loss of the Echo Isles, of his life, the reminder doesn't change his voice, which stays as sleek, as fine as ever. "A fine change from dat Hold ya loved so much. T'ink on dis, Vol'jin: how long it gonna take before da orcs send someone to hunt ya down like ya worked for dem ta break da Gurubashi, da Amani, da Zandalari? Ya be makin' excuses for ya friend den, too, I seen dis - da loa showed it to me a long time ago. Ya gonna fail, Vol'jin, and ya gonna pull us all wit' ya."

Vol'jin gathers his power to him like he'd grip his glaive or his bow, drawing it close and closer, to his skin and below it to hold off that otherness, that presence. "Den ya should have stayed dead," he says, and turns.

The shadow fades almost before he sees it, a brief flicker and a glimmer of magic replaced near-seamlessly by the dancing light of the fire. "Ya should have stayed dead, my brotha," he says again; to empty air this time, he knows. He also knows this: if Zalazane is truly here, alive or undead, he's a threat; a _Darkspear_ threat, Vol'jin's own business and not something to concern the Horde. Not again, not anymore.

 

These days his raptor is never far from him; it comes immediately to his quiet whistle and he climbs silently up onto its back, urging it onwards with hands and feet instead of words. No one, living or dead, will see him when he doesn't want to be seen, but tonight, while he hunts, he wants to pass unheard as well.

Vol'jin rides out away from the settlement, into the deep jungle, on half a hunch and a memory from years ago. He has guessed at the future; now it's time to find the past.


End file.
